I am telling this story not only for the entertainment(?) of the Sparky Nation, but also because I need to file it away for future reference. And by future reference, I mean blackmail opportunities.
I spent the morning running errands and came home shortly after lunch time. The Lolly-headed dog decided to protect our home from the malicious intruder coming through the front door (yeah, that would be me) by barking his fool head off. The Far Away Sparkette (who is not so far away right now) and Love Nugget 2 were napping on the sofa, and I peeked to see if the Lolly-head had awakened them. The Sparkette opened her eyes long enough to ask if the dog woke up Love Nugget 1. I peeked around the corner into the room where he was staying, only to see him sitting on the bed, wide awake, playing quietly with a toy drill. I reported as much, but since he was being quiet, I left him there, hoping he would eventually take his nap.
I put away my things and sat down at my computer to check my email when I heard a noise at the doorway of the room where Nug 1 was supposed to be sleeping. It sounded like the door closing. I then began to hear the click…click…click…click…click… of the overhead light and the ceiling fan being turned on…and off…and on…and off…and on…and off. I paused momentarily to wonder if I wanted to pick this battle. And then it occurred to me:
A two-year old shouldn’t be able to reach wall switches.
I got up and went to the doorway to find that the door was closed. I pushed it open and found myself eyeball to eyeball with a buck-nekked two-year old standing on a chair that used to have clean laundry piled into it. My eyes scanned the room as the situation began to sink in.
It was a complete and total poopoopalooza.
There was poop on the Sparkette’s bed. Poop on the lamp. Poop on the walls. Poop on toys. Poop on everything within reach of a two-year old…with a chair. Oh, and poop on the two-year old, who had filled his diaper to capacity and then removed it himself, helpful little bugger that he is.
It was safe to assume that there was probably poop on the floor, too, but since the carpet in that room is black and gray short shag, who could tell? I know there was a puddle of pee near the door because I stepped in it. There was also pee all over the chair with the laundry-pile-previously-known-as-clean.
I dragged out the carpet cleaner and hoped for the best while the Sparkette put the Nug in the shower for a scrub and shoved the washing machine full of a nasty load of laundry.
“What do I do with this?” she asked as she waved the toy drill at me. The hole where one would put a bit in a real drill was packed full of poop.
“Throw it away.” I mean seriously…what else can you really do when a toy goes from being pooped on to pooped in?
All the while, Love Nugget 2, who is currently going through a phase of extreme maternal attachment, was screaming bloody murder because his mama was cleaning up poo instead of holding him. She obviously had questionable priorities in his eyes.
Once Nug 1 was de-pooperized and clean and dressed, he was intensely interested in watching me clean the carpet. “Listen, dude,” I said sternly, “I didn’t like doing this when my kids were two, and I don’t like doing it now.” I gave him the hairy eyeball. He batted his eyelashes at me. No dice. This was not my first rodeo.
We eventually got the room cleaned and left it gated with fans blowing like crazy to dry the carpets. I wish I could say that the rest of the day was calmer, but in general, it wasn’t. There was a lot of crying and wailing and screaming and barking, and that was just the adults. It was, however, decidedly more sanitary than the nap hour with its Fantabulous Festival of Feces.
The Nugs are both tucked into bed and sleeping now, and I am reminded once again of a principle I learned when my own kids were tiny:
The reason God makes them so cute when they are sleeping is so that you’ll let them live another day.
Amen, and amen.